


Finger Painting

by WatercolourSkies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Primary School, Gen, Meet-Cute, Nervous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22255330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatercolourSkies/pseuds/WatercolourSkies
Summary: It’s Aziraphale’s first day at his new primary school, and he’s really nervous, but meeting a redheaded boy with finger paint streaked cheeks helps him realise that maybe things won’t be so bad after all.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Finger Painting

“Here we are: St Agnes Primary, your new school.” 

From the back of the car, Aziraphale said nothing. He hadn’t been meant to be starting a new school yet; he was in Year 1, so it probably wasn’t that odd to be starting a new school at the start of the school year, but it wasn’t the start of the year, it was the beginning of the spring term. He had finally left his old school after two-and-a-half years (an eternity for a child of his age) of his parents and teachers telling him to ignore the classmates making fun of his name, the way he already had a somewhat extended vocabulary, how he had spent Nursery and Reception constantly carrying around, one, a picture book and, two, Snuffles, the blankie with a white rabbit’s head he’d had since he was a baby. He was told that they weren’t trying to be mean, that they’d grow out of it, that he should focus on the positives: how much he loved learning, the friends he did have there, the fun activities... Eventually, though, his parents decided that they’d had enough. There hadn’t been a specific event, at least, not that he knew, that had changed their minds, it really just seemed like they realised that if things hadn’t improved for him in over two years, perhaps they never would. The fact that his only two friends had begun joining in with picking on him may have also played a role. 

So now here he was, in the car with his mother, in the carpark of his new school. He had never felt so scared in his entire life. What if this school was just as bad, or worse? What if the children there trapped people in their lockers and gave them ‘swirlies’ (Aziraphale wasn’t sure what those were, but he knew they couldn’t be nice), like in the films his parents called ‘tacky’ and ‘unrealistic’ but his old friend Uriel used to tell him about and said would help prepare them for ‘big kid school’. 

Aziraphale’s mum must have realised what his silence meant, as she turned in her seat, giving him a sympathetic look. “Are you alright, Azi?” she asked. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. This is a big change.” 

“Mm.” Aziraphale clutched his stomach, mostly because he genuinely was getting a stomach-ache, but also in the slight hope that this would convince his mum that he should go home if he wasn’t feeling well, a tactic that was more likely to work if she was in a good mood. 

“Oh, sweetie.” She smiled and reached out to caress his cheek. “Do you think you’ll be okay with me there? I’m only allowed to stay until break, but if you need me to stay until then, I’m more than happy to.” 

However bad this school was, Aziraphale supposed, at least there was at least one good thing about it: parents of children in Nursery and Reception, and Year One if the child was particularly nervous, were allowed to stay with them for a while. That hadn’t happened at his old school, so at least now if anyone did try to shut him in a locker, his mum would be there to stop them. 

He nodded. “I think so... I’ll miss you when you’re gone, though.” 

“I’ll miss you too, but I’m sure that the time will fly until the end of the day.” 

Aziraphale wasn’t so sure about that, but smiled back all the same. 

Once inside, he found another good thing: there were no lockers, only coat pegs. His name had been printed on a label to mark his, and he got to choose a sticker for it. He chose a rabbit, like Snuffles. 

Because he was joining late in the year, the teacher had advised him and his mum to arrive early so she could have a talk with them and help Aziraphale settle in. She told them that Aziraphale’s buddy would also be there, so he’d have a friend from the very beginning. Unfortunately, the buddy appeared to be running late. 

“I’m really sorry,” the teacher said. “I promise this doesn’t normally happen. I’m sure your buddy will be here soon.” This was directed at Aziraphale before the teacher looked back to his mum in the way that adults did, as if children could only hear the parts of conversations that were aimed directly at them. Aziraphale didn’t really mind it, he’d just noticed it. He did that a lot. “Anthony isn’t the best at taking on responsibility, but he has a big heart, and although he’d never admit it, he’s been a good influence on some of our more disruptive students in the past.” 

“I’m sure he and Aziraphale will be great friends.” His mum looked at him, and he knew the look read, ‘Look, your buddy’s a good influence on people. I’m sure he’ll help if you do have any trouble with other students, although I highly doubt you will.’ Aziraphale still wasn’t entirely convinced, but he did begin to feel like maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t such a risk to hope that she was right. 

It was after registration and a few minutes into the first lesson, art, when Aziraphale’s buddy did arrive. The teacher had taken Aziraphale and his mum aside to check up on him and show them where a few more things were when the boy walked in – ‘right on cue’, the teacher said. 

Anthony instantly stood out from the crowd. His hair was copper red, long, thick and curly, and the colour made Aziraphale imagine heat radiating from it. His eyes were fixed on the floor, so Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out the colour, but he did know that they were shining as bright as any flame. 

The teacher led Aziraphale over to him, while his mum went and sat down with the few other parents, watching their children from afar. 

Anthony had, after talking to the teaching assistant, put on the apron he had helped him retrieve from the box, sat himself down at a table and begun painting. He was only using his fingers to do this, the paintbrushes lying abandoned, but the teacher didn’t say anything about this. Aziraphale wondered if she was used to it. 

“Aziraphale, meet Anthony, your buddy. Anthony-” 

“Crowley,” the boy interrupted, his voice low and sullen. “Anthony is a boring name.” 

“Of course.” The teacher smiled. “Crowley, meet Aziraphale.” 

Crowley turned, and his expression changed completely as he locked eyes with Aziraphale, his scowl turning into a look of – Aziraphale hoped – pleasant surprise. His eyes, Aziraphale could now see, were light golden brown, but as pretty as they were, he couldn’t focus too much on them due to the streaks of red and blue paint on Crowley’s cheeks. His hands contained a larger palette of colours, which he tried to wipe off on his apron, with little to no success. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hello.” Aziraphale couldn’t hold in the question. “May I ask, why aren’t you using a paintbrush like the others?” All of the other children were, indeed, using paintbrushes. 

Crowley shrugged. “It’s just more fun this way, I think. Anyway, who wants to be like everybody else?” 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say to that. His parents told him that too, that it was good to be different, but wasn’t that the whole reason he’d been teased at his old school? “I suppose not,” he said all the same, not wanting to appear rude. 

“Aziraphale,” the teacher said, “do you want to get an apron and come and sit next to Crowley, so you can do your own painting?” 

“Yes, please,” said Aziraphale, with more certainty than even he had expected. He wasn’t sure why, but he was getting a very good feeling from Crowley. It was only a feeling, not really based on any solid facts, and yet... 

“Okay, the apron box is just over there, but I think your mum might want to talk to you, first.” 

Aziraphale hadn’t noticed that his mum was indeed glancing between him and the teacher in the way she did when she had something to say but didn’t want to interrupt. Seeing that she had permission, she walked over. 

“Hello again, darling. I just wanted to check whether you still wanted me to stay, or if you think you’ll be okay now you’ve got a buddy.” 

“Um.” Aziraphale thought for a second, remembering how Crowley had entered the classroom on his own, looking so independent. He decided that if his buddy didn’t need his parents with him at school, then Aziraphale didn’t either. “I think I’ll be okay, if you’d like to go.” 

His mum and the teacher, who was now helping another child with a paint water spillage but was still close enough to hear, shared a knowing smile. 

“As long as you’re sure.” 

Aziraphale nodded again, but this time it wasn’t just to be polite. 

“Great. I’ll see you soon, sweetie, and...” She turned her gaze to Crowley. “The teacher said your name was Anthony?” 

“Crowley,” he growled. 

Aziraphale’s mum instantly corrected herself. “Crowley. Take good care of my son.” She said this in a way that was half-joking, the joke being that this is not how she would normally phrase the request, but she did not mean it as a throwaway remark. 

“I will.” Aziraphale had thought that he’d spoken in a certain way, but that was nothing compared to Crowley’s voice just then – not raised, and yet running deeper than a voice used to make a promise that would be kept for thousands of years. 

After his mum was gone and Aziraphale was kitted out with an apron, a few paintbrushes, water for them and a big piece of white paper, Crowley spoke to him again. 

“Your mum seems really nice.” Aziraphale looked away from his paint palette to see that Crowley was smiling again, and he wondered if he had actually been right about Crowley’s hair being a source of heat, because he could feel his heart warming. 

“She is,” Aziraphale replied. This was it. The conversation where he and Crowley really got to know each other and truly began their friendship. He could feel it (he was getting a lot of feelings today, it seemed). “What’s your mum like?” 

“I don’t have a mum.” 

Oh. Oh no. “I’m so sorry,” he said hastily.

Crowley had already lost his smile again. “Don’t be. I have two dads, and they’re both great.” He looked at Aziraphale, as if daring him to challenge what he’d said. 

This was a new piece of information for Aziraphale. His parents had only ever told him about children having a mummy and a daddy, not two parents of the same gender. Although, Aziraphale could see it making sense. Marriage was to do with love, wasn’t it, and he didn’t see why two men – or two women, for that matter – couldn’t feel the same way about each other that a man and a woman could. Wait, hadn’t his parents said that babies were made by a mummy and a daddy having a special hug, though? Then he remembered that they’d also told him that some children were adopted, which meant that their family was different than the one they were born into. Maybe Crowley’s dads had adopted him. 

“Ah, okay. I’m glad that they’re great.” Aziraphale didn’t know if this was the right thing to say or not. The way Crowley had been looking at him gave him the impression that this was a big deal for him, but Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything else it would make sense to say. ‘Congratulations’? ‘That’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard’? 

It turned out that what he said was just right, or at least okay, because Crowley visibly relaxed. “Yep.” He glanced down at his painting, and Aziraphale followed his gaze. It seemed to be of a night sky: smears of pitch black for the sky, with some hills at the bottom, and countless white fingerprints – stars. Aziraphale wondered where the red and blue on Crowley’s face and hands had come from before noting the crumpled-up sheets on the side of his desk, still sticky with paint. 

“It’s almost done,” Crowley decided, “but it could do with a finishing touch.” He said the last few words with a flourish, as if he’d picked it up from a TV programme and wanted to show the new expression off. Then, he grinned and grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist. Aziraphale was surprised, but didn’t flinch. He trusted Crowley. 

“What’s your favourite colour?” the boy asked. 

“Um, blue,” Aziraphale told him, glancing at the blue strip on Crowley’s nose. 

Crowley dipped Aziraphale’s finger in the blue paint and then his own in red. He pressed his finger to the centre of the painting, then Aziraphale’s just next to it. He let go of Aziraphale and let him see what they’d made: a heart. 

“There.” Crowley beamed. “Perfect.”

And he was right, Aziraphale knew then. Everything truly was perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed what is definitely my fluffiest fic so far! I just love the idea of them meeting as little children, becoming best friends and growing up together, so I decided to write this fic.  
> Please consider giving kudos if you liked this story, as I am seriously grateful for it, and feel free to leave a comment.  
> Have a lovely day. <3


End file.
